The Reluctant Reformer (5 page)

Gerald and Robert had once claimed he was a bloodless sod when he'd revealed that philosophy. They had discussed many things while seated around the fire at night, and the subject of mistresses had invariably come up. Neither of his friends had understood, but James simply was not hampered by the carnal nature most men seemed led by. Or so he had thought. Yet here he was, lusting after the woman presently installed in a room upstairs, his mental processes as muddled as those of any brainless dog after a bitch in heat.

“Parliament canceled?”

James gave up berating himself as the last two words of Webster's question broke through his thoughts. Frowning, he glanced at his servant. “What was that?”

“I said you have quite taken us by surprise with this visit, milord. I did not expect you until the day after
next at the least, after Parliament met. Was the meeting canceled?”

James stared blankly at the man for a moment, his brain slow to digest what he was saying, and slower still to accept that he had been so stupid. “Damn,” he breathed at last, hardly able to believe that he had forgotten. He had long been a member of the House of Lords, and had made a concerted effort to attend each meeting. He had missed one or two, of course—illness, emergencies, life itself sometimes intervened—but just now there was a matter of some importance on the table and he really had wanted to be there. How could he have forgotten? Dear Lord, he had made a muff up this time.

Cursing, he set his untouched glass of warm milk and whiskey down with a clink and rose from his seat. “Tell Crowch to harness fresh horses to the carriage. We must head back at once. Then come to my room. I have to change, and I will give you instructions regarding Lady Wentworth while I do. Damn!” he added again.

“Lady Wentworth?” his butler asked in confusion as he followed James out of the library.

“She is in the blue room. A…guest. You are to be sure she remains one while I am gone.”

Sighing, Maggie shifted in her seat and again glanced toward the door. It was past the supper hour. She had awoken around noon to find a new gown lying at the foot of the bed in which she had slept so poorly.

Her lack of rest was no fault of the bed's—it had been as comfortable as a mattress of clouds, which was the only reason she had eventually fallen asleep at all. Nay, her inability to sleep had been due purely to her anxiety and nerves about her host's intentions. He claimed to be Lord Ramsey, and that his intentions were to aid her, but…Well, how could she be sure he was who he claimed? Or if his intentions were pure? After all, he
had
kidnapped her.

She plucked fretfully at the soft skirt of the light blue gown she wore and grimaced. Despite Lord Ramsey's telling her to ring the bell when she awoke so that appropriate clothing could be brought to her, Maggie had
not had to do so. She had risen to find this gown across the foot of the bed. Someone must have slipped in while she slept. But who? Had it been the man calling himself her brother's friend or one of his servants?

One of his servants, she decided. Delivering gowns didn't seem a likely task for a lord. Besides, the idea of Ramsey slipping into the room while she slept was completely unnerving.

Maggie had checked the door this morning before she'd tried to sleep, only to find that there was no way to lock it. She had made a halfhearted attempt to barricade the portal with the chair she now sat in—the only one in the room—but its back was too short to be jammed under the doorknob. It was also too light to be any sort of bar to the door's opening. Every piece of furniture in the room had proven to be similarly too small or too large and heavy to be used in such a manner. Maggie had been forced to resign herself to the fact that there was no way to prevent anyone from entering. Which was why she'd had such trouble sleeping, despite her exhaustion. Her unconsciousness during the journey here had not, apparently, been restful. She was as weary when she awoke at noon as if she had never slept, and she'd spent the better part of this afternoon nodding in this chair, waiting to be retrieved.

It was evening and she was still waiting. Was Lord Ramsey never going to come? She shook her head and almost managed a smile. First she had been trying to find a way to barricade the door against his entry, and now she was impatient for the rascal to come around. Nonsensical, she supposed, but the waiting in itself was driving her mad. Besides, she was growing quite hungry.
Nay, she corrected herself, she had
awakened
hungry; she was
growing famished
.

Her stomach rumbled as if in agreement, and Maggie suddenly thrust herself to her feet. Enough was enough! She could bear the waiting no longer. If the rude man had no intention of coming for her, she would go and confront him.

“He's probably a madman,” she muttered under her breath as she crossed the room to the door. “Ready for Bedlam.”

Such thoughts, she decided as she found herself standing before the bedroom door but hesitating to open it, were definitely not reassuring. She had just managed to shore her sagging courage and reach for the knob when a tap from the other side made her pull back with a squeak of dismay. Heart racing and mouth dry, she stared at the blank surface of the door with apprehension until a second tap came; then she swallowed and called out in a voice so high and squeaky that she hardly recognized it as her own, “Yes?”

Maggie scooted back several steps as the doorknob turned and the door swung inward. Her alarm eased somewhat, however, when a petite young maid stepped in.

“Oh, ye're up.” The girl beamed approvingly. “I said to Cook as how I thought ye'd be, but he was sure his work'd been for naught and the meal he'd prepared would go to waste.”

When Maggie merely stared at her, concern clouded the girl's eyes and she tilted her head. “Are you feeling all right, m'lady? Lord Ramsey said as how ye were exhausted from the journey 'ere and might sleep the day
away, but ye're looking a bit peaked, too. Ye're not coming down with the ague, are ye?”

Maggie managed to relax somewhat, and even felt a smile spread her lips slightly in answer. “Nay. I am fine, thank you.”

The girl brightened at once, again beaming at Maggie. “Good. Then I am Annie. I'm to be your maid while ye're with us. Anything ye need, ye just ask me.”

“Very well. Thank you, Annie,” Maggie said after the girl paused expectantly.

Nodding, the girl smiled wider. “Shall I show you down to supper?”

“I…Yes, thank you,” Maggie agreed, then straightened her shoulders as she followed the maid out of the room. Annie led her along the hall, then down the stairs to the main floor. Maggie spent most of the trip distracted by her first real tour of the house in which she was imprisoned. It had been dark and gloomy this morning when they had arrived. Aside from that, her undignified position—hanging down her captor's back—had not given her much opportunity to look around. She did so now curiously.

Much to her interest, it seemed villains did not live in villainous abodes. Ramsey's home was lovely. His maid led Maggie down a hallway of soothing grays with furnishings that were expensive and round-edged. The soft color scheme continued down the stairs to the entryway where it became more muted with dark blue. Annie then showed her through another hall of neutral colors and into a large chamber with a long covered table—the dining room.

Lord Ramsey was conspicuous in his absence. Maggie felt her body relax slightly as she realized it, and thus
took the time to appreciate the decor. The walls were painted a warm blue that could only encourage dallying over a meal. In the center of the room was a huge dining table covered with a pristine white cloth that barely allowed legs of a dark rich mahogany—matching the wood of the chairs surrounding it—to peek out from beneath. A sideboard of the same dark wood stood along the wall.

Maggie allowed herself to be seated, her gaze slow to move to the table itself. The maid had nearly left the room before Maggie took in the fact that hers was the only setting. “But…” she began, and Annie paused, peering back questioningly. Swallowing, Maggie managed a smile as she asked, “Is Lord Ramsey not to join me?”

The maid's eyes widened. “Nay, mum. He had to return to town. He left shortly after arriving and said—Oh!” She patted her skirts as if looking for something, then muttered fretfully, “He left a letter for ye. I was to give it to ye as soon as milady awoke. Now where did I—Oh, yes! Won't be a moment.”

Whirling away, the girl fled the room, leaving Maggie to consider her words. Lord Ramsey wasn't here. He had returned to town. What did that mean? Well, she supposed that made it obvious he hadn't brought her here with the intention of ravishing her.
Not that I imagined for a moment that he did
, she assured herself. Though she did find herself feeling a touch deflated. There she had been hiding in her room all this time to avoid confronting a man who hadn't even been here. She sat up in her chair as the ramifications of that fact occurred to her. He wasn't here. Her captor wasn't around. There was no one to keep her here!

The thought brought her lunging excitedly to her feet, but before she could move away from the table, Annie came bustling back into the room with a self-satisfied smile on her face.

“Here it is.” She presented a sealed message to Maggie in triumph.

Maggie hesitated, then accepted the note. She sank reluctantly back into her seat. Breaking the seal, she unfolded the missive and read, her consternation growing with every word.

“Arrogant ass.”

“What?”

The maid's gasp drew Maggie's attention to the fact that she had just muttered the irrepressible thought aloud. Her mouth tightening, she forced a smile. “Just a glass,” she lied blithely. “One glass of wine is all I shall have with dinner, I think.”

“Oh.” The maid stared at her doubtfully, but didn't question her veracity, then she nodded and slipped from the room with a murmur that she would inform Cook that her ladyship was ready.

Maggie folded the letter again with agitation, the words
arrogant ass
running through her mind again. What did Lord Ramsey take her for? An idiot? Did he expect her to simply sit here sweetly awaiting his pleasure? He must be mad! He had said that the servants would not aid her, but would they actually stop her leaving? Well, it might be too far to walk to town, but there had to be a village or something nearer than that, somewhere where she could rent a carriage or…

Of course, she didn't have any money to rent a carriage, she realized with a frown. In fact, all she had was the gown on her back—and that wasn't even her own. She scowled, then sat up a little stiffer to assure herself there was yet something she could do. She had two strong legs, a fine mind, and determination. Those together should be enough to see her well away from this place.

With that thought Maggie stood, then paused to glance toward the windows that lined the western wall of the room. They gave a lovely view of the setting sun. It would be dark soon. Which gave her pause. Did she really wish to traipse through the countryside in the dark?

Her stomach growled, adding its own protest, and she decided she really should eat before she considered leaving. She would need her strength if she planned to walk in search of a town or neighboring estate where she might find help—if that was going to be her plan. She hadn't really considered the matter yet. Perhaps it behooved her to actually determine a specific plan of escape. Perhaps she should learn how near or far away help actually was. Perhaps she should—

Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of din
ner. It came served on a parade of trays borne by solemn-faced servants. One might have thought they bore the queen's jewels on those trays instead of suckling pig, roast duck, or the various other dishes she saw. Letting her plans to escape fade away, Maggie sat silently and—she hoped—stoically as each servant approached her in turn to serve her a portion from his tray. Rather than set the platters on the table and leave her to her meal, as her own servants would have done, each man lined himself against the wall, gloved hands clasped loosely before him, eyes staring straight ahead and expression blank.

Maggie peered at the servers uncomfortably for a moment, then decided they weren't going anywhere; she had best get to it if she wished to eat. Picking up one of her forks, she set to work on the food. It was an extremely odd meal. Despite the fact that the men were all staring blankly at the opposite wall of the room, she felt as if they were staring at her. And they must have been watching her out of the corner of their eyes, for, the moment she finished her wine, the fellow who had carried it in and poured her first glass stepped silently and efficiently forward to refill it. When she finished off the portion of duck she had been served, another servant, he who had carried that in, promptly stepped up to retrieve the tray and offer her more. Maggie found the whole process most discomforting and ended up rushing, waving away offers of seconds in her eagerness to escape the staff's stifling presence.

It was a great relief when she finished the last scrap of food on her plate. Setting the dish aside she stood, abruptly waving off the servant who jumped forward to offer her one of the lovely-looking desserts that were
his charge. Managing a pained smile to soften her dismissal, she moved swiftly around the table and fled. She was actually relieved to find Annie awaiting her in the hall. When the maid asked if she would prefer a drink in the salon, a visit to the library, or a return to her bedroom, Maggie opted for the last. It was time to plan her escape.

 

“Damn.” Maggie tugged at her skirt irritably, trying to pull it free of the log on which it had caught. This was only about the hundredth time that it had happened. The damn forest seemed inordinately full of fallen branches and the like, all catching at her gown and slowing her progress. It was as if the very woods themselves were trying to hinder her flight.

If one could really call it flight, she thought impatiently. This had started out as a grand escape, but it had foundered. Now she was merely lost in the woods. She managed to tug her gown free of its latest entanglement, then hesitated before dropping to sit wearily on the log that had previously been holding her back.

This was not going well at all. Oh, she had thought she was so clever with her plan. She had resolved to set out on the second day of her presence at Ramsey, directly after breakfast, but that had been before she realized that Annie was to be her “constant companion”—a much nicer description than the jailer that the girl really was. The wench hadn't left Maggie's side from the moment she arrived in her room the second morning to show her to breakfast.

Maggie had awoken that morning to find the blue gown gone and a yellow one in its place. Annie's work, no doubt, she had decided. Donning the gown, she'd
found that it, like the first, was nearly a perfect fit. Nearly. Both gowns obviously belonged to someone who had a somewhat more generous bosom.

Maggie had no interest in deducing who the owner was. Probably a mistress of Lord Ramsey's, but Maggie didn't give two figs about that. Her mind had been solely occupied with her intention to escape.

She had followed Annie dutifully down to the dining room to eat, relieved to find that while supper had been solemn and attended by many servants, breakfast was a more relaxed affair. A selection of sausages, pastries, and such had been set out on the sideboard for her to serve herself. Maggie had taken that opportunity to store up on sustenance, eating a good deal, then slipping some serviette-wrapped goodies into her pocket for later, for her bid for freedom.